On the shore, duskgnomes worked frantically, assembling a complex mechanism of cranks and gears. An older duskgnome shot a worried glance toward Glen. “Shouldn't we call the adventurers back?”
Malvorik quickly sent out a series of urgent orders:
His focus shifted to a new defensive structure at the upper edge of his dungeon’s territory along the underground river. The battlements he was building on both sides would drastically improve his defenses. A permanent illusion and a silencing barrier were also in the works, hiding anything happening there from potential witnesses in the wide open cavern where they had to fight right now. The connection point where the sewer pipes lead into the river. As soon as he could finish the construction, it would ensure that even if curious sewer workers wandered too close, they wouldn’t detect the ongoing battle. He made a mental note to also build sound-dampening enchantments in the corridors farther up to avoid over-relying on his precious commanderflies.
Just then, Skybeacon reported movement. A raft full of armed Krigesti had entered visual range. They wore burnouses of sand-colored fabric, long and flowing, the hoods drawn low over their faces. The fabric at their feet now heavy with water. Their expressions were calm. Their eyes sparkling red in the light of glowing crystals growing right out of the wood of the primitive raft. No clinking armor, no whispered words, only the rhythmic creak of the raft as it passed through the darkened cavern. Each warrior clutched a spear. They did not glance at one another, nor did they acknowledge the jagged stalactites overhead or the narrow ledges that lined the cavern walls. Their movements were in perfect unison, some using spear shafts trying to prevent the raft from hitting the walls, others steering with primitive carved oars. Always keeping the raft perfectly balanced with movements choreographed by an unseen director. Despite their coordination, they clearly struggled against the underground currents. The crystal-controlled desert warriors clearly had no skills or experience with boating or rafting. Judging by the debris and the occasional floating corpses that preceded them, they weren't having an easy time navigating the tunnels full of wild currents. He’d estimated at most one in three rafts even made it into the cavern.
Malvorik waited until they prepared to throw grappling hooks on ropes to land on the shore. At his command, his lurkers fired and besps descended in a swarm. Bolts thudded into flesh, and the raft failed their maneuver and continued drifting further down the tunnel. Straight toward an underground waterfall. Since a past reconnaissance mission by Skybeacon, Malvorik knew nothing would return from that abyss.
He was about to shift focus back to his fortifications when an urgent voice called his name. He redirected his vision toward the upper sewer entrance, where Korrm, one of the two duskgnomes stationed at the bathhouse, stood breathless. “Master Malvorik!”
“No, it’s not that! There’s news from our team! The city's on high alert. Reports are coming in about an area quest. Right from where team NPCS is!”
Malvorik groaned mentally.
“It’s an eradication quest, Master.”
“It’s hoarderscales!”
For a heartbeat, the crystal of the dungeon-heart dimmed.
“Hoarderscales, Master. The scourge that…”
<…devoured the Cathurian Empire. I know. That can’t be right.>
The thought sent a pulse of alarm through his core. The Empire, then later the United Kingdom, had established powerful detection spells specifically to monitor for any resurgence of the Great Scourge. If hoarderscales had reappeared, alarms should have gone off the moment the first hatchling left its cave. Just as dungeons were instantly flagged when breaching the surface.
“We don’t know. We had no direct contact yet, but the city is already mobilizing. Adventurers are gathering at the guild and the guards are assembling at the northern gate, but they’re hesitant to move out during the night. I heard the baron ordered clerics and mages with light spells to join, but few have arrived so far.”
His crystal pulsed, deep in thought. This wasn’t just some monster nest quest; this was an existential threat to the whole kingdom. But… It wasn’t his fight. There was no way for him to speed up the departure of the guards or to help round up reluctant mages. No way to get reinforcements to the team in time like last time. A distraction wouldn’t help. Could he provide some critical knowledge or wise advice? No. He wasn’t specialized in anything remotely useful. His history knowledge of the Great Scourge was decent, but any scholar the baron would already have hurried out of his bed would know as much.
He could not help. But he could prevent the Krigesti from entering the city while it was in turmoil. The distraction of the guard and chaos throughout the city had probably been the trigger for the current attack. The crystal went completely dark for a moment as he tried to imagine the Krigesti managing to turn one of the hoarderscales. Would the scourge monsters keep their ability to quickly grow and level up just by feeding? Would their young hatch already infected and controlled by the crystal hive-mind?
Malvorik had no time to dwell on future concerns. His sentry commanderfly, Skybeacon, spotted the next wave of attackers approaching.
Multiple rafts, bound together by thick ropes, were drifting down the underground river, their occupants using hooks and grappling lines to slow their approach. The hooks caught onto crevices and outcroppings along the cavern walls, and though Malvorik couldn’t be certain whether the ropes were long enough to reach the landing area, he feared the worst.
Then, the walls and ceiling began to crawl.
Cave spiders, each the size of a cat, emerged from the shadows, their awkward, jerking movements betraying their hive-mind puppeteers’ inexperience with so many legs. Some of their eyes had been shattered by growing clusters of jagged, red glowing crystals. Their pincers dripped with venom.
Malvorik didn't recognize the exact species, but he knew most cave spiders were immune to venom. His besps would struggle to bring them down.
Skybeacon veered back toward the cavern, where two other commanderflies hovered in anticipation, their besp swarms clustering around them in a restless haze. Below, the duskgnomes had finally finished setting up their repeating crossbow, a siege weapon that Malvorik still didn’t fully understand. His lurkers stood ready, crossbows loaded, their forms camouflaged against the jagged rock.
As a last resort, a pack of shrill-rats crouched at the edges of the cavern, waiting for the worst. Should the enemy manage to land and disembark, the battle would become desperate.
The coordination of the krigesti wavered as they came nearer, clearly at the edge of the range of their hive-mind connection to the army that was besieging the pass. But the attackers still came.
Shortbows twanged, arrows flying from the rafts, but from their unsteady platforms, even the Krigesti sharpshooters couldn’t hit their targets.
Malvorik paused. It was time.
He had prepared one last contingency. Something which would have been possible without his truly ridiculously high mana regeneration, due to his position at the crossing of multiple mana-lines, further enhanced by his sanctuary enchantment, which thickened the mana density in his heart room. So he had been able to create a whole swarm of his newest chimera design in time. A new variant of besps: the stormtouched.
They were slower, stockier, their bodies rounder, more reminiscent of giant bumblebees than the usual sleek-winged besps. Their coloration a pattern of light and darker blue. They lacked the usual stinger. Instead, each stormtouched had the ability to cast an enhanced Shocking Grasp on touch. Each of them counted as a full level 1 monster, instead of the usual six normal besps he got for the same mana expenditure. They were still as fragile, but that mattered little if they managed to discharge their attack before detonating into a burst of lightning mana upon death. This short-lived mana charge would further enhance the next lightning spell in its area. In a confined space, that could potentially lead to a devastating domino effect.
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On the negative side, he now had spent every single bit of mana in his reserves. There would be no creating reinforcements during this fight. And if the krigesti managed to reach his heart-room, he would be defenseless.
The duskgnomes cranked the siege weapon’s levers, launching bolt after bolt into the tunnel. The lurkers fired as quickly as they could, thinning the Krigesti numbers. The besp swarms dove into the battle, but as expected, they barely fazed the cave spiders who ignored the tiny stings and the ineffective venom. Against the human warriors, however, the venom proved far more effective, though they fought back viciously, their scimitars flashing in the dim cavern light.
As the lead raft neared the cavern, Malvorik gave the command.
A deep rumble filled the chamber as a massive slab of ceiling stone descended, revealing a hidden alcove, carefully hollowed out for this very moment. Inside, the dormant swarm stirred, their wings crackling with static.
The moment the opening was wide enough, the swarm erupted forth.
Like a glittering wave of blue and white, the stormtouched besps dove straight into the tunnel, accelerating downward before pulling up to race toward the oncoming rafts.
The Krigesti saw them coming, but that didn’t matter. The warrior at the front barely had time to flinch before a besp slammed into his face and burst into a cloud of lightning. He convulsed, his body seizing, before tumbling off the raft into the water, his limbs still twitching. The stormtouched were too small and nimble to be hit with spears and even the dexterous scimitar fighters had a problem. The moment they hit one of the stormtouched with their metal weapons, it exploded while discharging its lightning magic, which arced along the blade and right into its wielder.
Each dying stormtouched charged the area with lightning mana. Lightning arced violently, crackling through the rafts’ wet wooden planks. One by one, the stormtouched struck, their deaths igniting bursts of chain lightning.
The charged mana cloud thickened, amplifying each subsequent explosion. Electricity danced wildly, setting the rafts themselves ablaze, flickering fires licking at the water’s edge as smoke filled the tunnel.
Then, the moment of surprise was gone and the krigesti adapted. Those at the front of the rafts adjusted their spears, gripping them mid-shaft to use them like makeshift clubs, bashing the stormtouched away or smashing them into the cavern walls.
The warriors on the rear raft tightened their grip on the ropes, slowing their advance. They prepared to land.
The stormtouched whirled around, up at the ceiling and at the sides. With their discharges too far apart, the lightning field faded, but most of the spiders went spasming into the churning water.
With a heave at the ropes and more hooks thrown, the rafts came to a stop in front of the sewer pipes. Warriors jumped from the rafts and immediately fell into a formation, spears pointing forward from the second rank, while the first used their scimitars for defense. At least, Malvorik assumed that was their intent. He did not plan to let them finish.
Lurkers, using their chameleon fur to hide in almost plain sight, appeared seemingly from nowhere right at the side of the formation that was still forming up. Warriors at the rear were thrown right back into the water, others were grappled or hit with sneak attacks using poisoned daggers. The lurkers were not that good at prolonged melee combat, but their opening attack was vicious. Two of the lurkers jumped on the rafts and ran to the hindmost to cut the ropes with axes.
Tiny trapdoors sprung up on the floor right between enemies, to release shrill-rats, while even more stormed at the enemy from all sides.
Malvorik was quite proud of remembering to order the lurkers to block their ears with wax, so they wouldn’t be as affected by the ear shattering side-effects of the sonic-attacks of the shrill-rats. To his dismay, the krigesti also seemed to be near immune to noise. Only when shrill-rats came near enough to release their attack from point-blank range would they show any of the usual disorientation. But no stunning effect occurred. He ordered his rats to just attack by biting, but that didn’t have the intended effect.
With a mental command, he ordered all light doused in the cavern. Darkness descended. Almost immediately some of the krigesti pulled out light-crystals to illuminate their surroundings. But even the few moments of darkness had been enough for the rats to retreat using their sonic-vision.
Lurkers on the edge of battle stepped back and ran. Even in darkness they remembered their prepared escape routes, where they found loaded crossbows waiting for them. As the krigesti lit up their position, they opened fire.
The lurkers behind enemy lines just kept fighting, but were cut down within moments.
Glen proudly watched his brethren fight, then fired his oversized crossbow at a krigesti holding a light crystal. The bolt shot right through his chest and lodged itself into the warrior behind him. He used a quick look around to make sure Fluffle or the other primes had not managed to sneak into the battle area against their orders.
The duskgnomes retreated after pulling a lever on the repeating crossbow, that permanently destroyed the mechanism. The siege weapon would not be allowed to fall into enemy hands.
The krigesti lines were in disarray, almost everyone was wounded, but they were recovering fast. Malvoriks usual tactics of overwhelming the enemy with numbers had not worked well enough to stop them. He sighed. There was only one thing he had left to do, apart from letting the duskgnomes fight, which he absolutely did not want to do. It was forbidden by tradition and dungeon-etiquette, but since he had been allowed to ignore all rules, he could do this last thing. The one thing no sane dungeon did. Ever.
So of course he’d done it half an hour ago.
He had sent his boss-monster out of his boss room out into the dungeon. The rat-oger had finally reached the last tunnel and was nearing the krigesti with the speed of a downhill racing wagon. It was time to show the power of… Malvorik paused. Did he really never name his final defender?
An annoyed grunt from the monster answered the question he had inadvertently sent out telepathically.
The hulking brute tossed something into his mouth—a glass-like orb filled with shimmering liquid. Malvorik had long since abandoned the idea of teaching his ham-fisted boss monster how to open and drink from potion bottles. The massive creature needed multiple doses anyway, so Malvorik had devised a workaround: a hollow sugar-crystal sphere, packed with the equivalent of five speed potions. A thin coating of beeswax on the inside prevented the contents from dissolving the sugar prematurely.
With a sickening crunch, the boss monster bit down, shattering the fragile shell and gulping the potion in a single motion. He took three enormous strides, and his movements doubled in speed, his bulk suddenly a blur of motion.
His right hand clenched his massive warhammer. His left was empty—for now. He had needed it to carry the potion orb, but soon, it would have a much greater purpose.
The first arrows struck as soon as he charged into the cavern, but they barely scratched his dungeon-forged chainmail or steel-plated helmet. Trusting Malvorik’s guidance, he kept his head low, shielding his eyes.
The rat-ogre’s head snapped up. His jaw unhinged wide and a torrent of frost erupted.
A cone of super-cooled air, glittering with ice shards and crackling with electricity, engulfed the krigesti ranks. Frost Breath, but with a much wider area of effect, scaling with the size of the caster. And since it was an ability granted to his final boss monster, he had been able to enhance it. The super-frozen air was charged and lightning sparked between the razer-sharp ice shards. Malvorik was a bit discontent. Had he managed to slow the enemies down just a bit more, he could have coordinated the attack with the stormtouched, magnifying it. The effect was still quite satisfying. The ground beneath them turned slick with ice, muscles froze mid-motion, and weapons slipped from rigid fingers. The cold shock sent them reeling, while the residual lightning paralyzed their nerves.
Then, behind them, right at the river’s edge, a temperature-triggered trap activated. An iron bar shot up from the floor and locked in place.
With a thunderous roar, the boss monster barreled forward, his outstretched arms and warhammer extended to the sides, using his momentum as a weapon.
The first ranks of krigesti barely had time to react before they were bodily bulldozed, their lightweight forms sent flying. He carried them with him, plowing straight into their disorganized formation and right over the edge of the river.
The rafts were already drifting away, their ropes cut by the two lurkers who had broken away earlier.
With one powerful shove, he sent half the warriors tumbling into the water.
Then, just as he reached the edge himself, he grabbed the iron bar with his left hand, using it as a pivot point.
His body swung around in a wide arc, turning him back toward the dozen remaining krigesti.
Half were still stumbling, struggling to regain their footing on the slick ice, while the others lay sprawled on the ground, dazed.
His enchanted shin armor bit into the frozen surface, keeping his stance firm as he planted his feet.
He braced his warhammer sideways, using the momentum of his spin to slam into the nearest warriors, cracking ribs and denting armor.
Without hesitation, he reached over his shoulder, drew his second warhammer, and unleashed devastation. Each swing sent bodies flying and bones snapping.
The shrill-rats returned, swarming over fallen enemies.
The lurkers kept up their barrage, crossbows flashing in the dim cavern light.
Amid the chaos, Glen struck from the shadows.
With silent precision, he emerged behind the last armored krigesti, driving a dagger deep into the armpit while his off-hand clamped around the enemy’s throat in a brutal chokehold.
Malvorik noted the efficiency but had no time to admire it.
ordered two lurkers to the river with ropes to save any of his monsters, if they fell into the water. That’s when he realized a crucial mistake… Lurkers couldn’t swim.
Two of them sank instantly.
A handful of shrill-rats could still be saved, but the rest were lost to the current.
Even at a disadvantage, the krigesti fought to their last breath. It took every remaining ounce of effort to put them down.
By the time the battle finally cooled, most of Malvorik’s forces collapsed from exhaustion where they stood.
Malvorik’s mental voice lacked its usual smugness.
As his monsters withdrew, Malvorik observed the battlefield.
The river ran red, its currents carrying away the fallen. The air crackled with the lingering scent of ozone and frost, while smoldering raft remnants disappeared in the darkness.
The krigesti had been stopped. This time.
* * *
The sewer maintenance crew trudged through the damp tunnel, their lanterns and the light-crystals on their helmets casting a mix of flickering and steady light over the slick stone walls. They had expected the usual sewer stench, but the moment they neared the underground river, something else filled their noses.
Ulrich, the foreman, stopped first. His brow furrowed. “What in the hells is that?”
It wasn’t sewage. It wasn’t decay or stagnant water.
The thick, acrid scent of charred meat mixed with something sharp, metallic, and unnatural. The faint tang of ozone curled at the edges of their senses, the unmistakable aftershock of lightning magic.
One worker pulled his scarf up over his nose. “That’s a battlefield stink.”
“No bodies,” muttered another, his voice uneasy. “No blood. No weapons.” His eyes darted toward the murky river. “…Did they clean it up?”
“And something took the bodies with them,” the foreman muttered.
They fanned out cautiously, scanning the area. No footprints, no drag marks, no spent bolts or shattered weapons. Nothing. Just that awful, clinging smell of battle.
The worker swallowed thickly. “There was a fight here. A bad one.”
Ulrich exhaled through his nose, steeling himself. “Aye.” He turned toward the others. “We finish our inspection, then we leave. We saw nothing.”
No one argued.
They worked quickly, taking note of the structural integrity of the tunnel, but their eyes never stopped scanning the darkness. The river flowed, silent and indifferent, its surface betraying no hint of what had happened here.